


In Absentia

by local_doom_void



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Not yet but they will, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Pacifist Route, Spoilers - Pacifist Route, Spoilers Generally, Tags Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5399006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/local_doom_void/pseuds/local_doom_void
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No... How did this happen?” Asgore stumbled to his knees before the casket. “Why is it empty? Where did they go?”</p><p>But nobody answered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Absentia

**Author's Note:**

> Life is great. Really, really great. It’s the kind of ‘great’ that you only _wish_ you could get a taste of someday, like chocolate strawberries.
> 
> Unless you hate both of those things. In which case you’re weird.
> 
> But yeah, life’s great. Well. It’s mostly great. Being out of the underground is great, the barrier being gone is great. Everyone being happy and alive, despite all that irresponsible soul-absorbing, that’s great too.
> 
> But... still. Being great doesn’t mean there still isn’t something missing, somewhere. And, you know, papering it over doesn’t always last forever. There will still be a hole there behind the paper, waiting to be filled...

The sunset is delightful to watch, but the stars are the real crowd-pleaser. Everyone in the capital, it seems, is coming out for them, or in waiting for them. They’re not quite out yet, still covered by clouds and the sun’s deep orange and red rays, reflecting into the sky. Purple creeps over the top of the mountain behind the group of monsters and one small human, fading quickly to deep indigo blue.

It’s hard to tell who calls it out first. But there’s a soft glimmer of pale pink left on the horizon, orange and salmon fading quickly to cobalt blue, then navy, and there, above the mountainside... a white glimmer. And the whole mountainside is shouting.

“It’s a star!”

“Star!”

“A star!”

“The stars are coming out!”

... well, you get the idea. They’re all excited to see the sky, the stars, and really, who can blame them? You’d be happy to see the stars if _you’d_ been stuck in a cave for ages, too.

The mountainside is crowded already, and monsters are still pouring out of the exit, making their way to the edges of the clearings already full to brimming with froggits, astigmatisms, and molds both smal and bygg. Madjick is sitting on Knight Knight’s helmet, tugging on the larger monster’s ears whenever she starts to droop, so that she can keep watching. Some of the faster Hotland residents are starting to spill out of the exit now, probably after racing through the streets as fast as they could.

Up near the exit is a little ledge, and a set of monsters and one small human stands there. There is a tall, armored monster with a golden beard, holding a broken trident sheepishly, though he can’t resist staring at the sky either. There is a fish lady named Undyne, hoisting a short yellow reptile named Alphys onto her shoulders and practically dancing with a skeleton, slightly shorter than her, wearing a large red scarf. (The skeleton’s name is Papyrus, if you were wondering.) Just behind the taller skeleton is a much smaller one in a blue, fluffy hoodie. His name is Sans, and he is staring at a single point in the sky, somehow both seeing and not seeing. Beside Sans stands a small human, holding hands with a much larger white-furred monster named Toriel.

The human’s name is Frisk.

*__________

It turns into a sort of cross between a sleepover, a tentless camping trip, and a stargazing party. Nobody bothers to question this. Frisk curls up in Toriel’s lap and falls asleep eventually, though Papyrus and Undyne both insist on giving them goodnight kisses -- they’re more like goodnight nuzzles, though, let’s be honest. After all, Papyrus has no lips and Undyne’s lips are blocked by her teeth.

Around midnight, Alphys shuffles over to Sans, who is still standing in the same place he was before, desperately drinking in the stars with his empty eye sockets.

“What do you think?” Alphys murmurs to him.

Sans says nothing.

“I t-think we have a good chance,” Alphys says, as if to herself. “I’ll need to run some models, b-but -- well, look at everyone.” She casts an almost loving glance at the slope of the mountain below, covered in monsters of all shapes and descriptions curled up on the grass and leaves, stars glimmering down on them in a long overdue welcome. “Everyone is so happy.”

Sans still says nothing.

When Alphys walks away near dawn, he takes a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. Painstakingly, he smooths out the wrinkles -- a bit more of a difficult task when you’re just bone, but he manages it. He stares at it for a while, as though it’ll wriggle from his hands, and then looks back at the receding night on the horizon. As the next day dawns, he haphazardly scratches a title across the paper, and makes a single little mark.

*__________

They have been here for one day.

*__________

Sans is lying in a pile of leaves, hood pulled up over his skull. The leaves around him are yellow, orange, and red, their vibrance contrasting with the exposed patches of his blue jacket. Sunlight falls through the tree branches and the as-yet unfallen leaves, dappling the already reddish-orange pile with an even more golden tint.

Aw, look. He’s even got a pillow... though _where_ he got it is anyone’s guess.

“Sans?” The voice, accompanied by gentle footfalls, comes from further up the slope. “Are you there?”

“hey bro,” comes Sans’ voice from under the hood.

Papyrus strides into view and comes around the pile of foliage, his scarf fluttering gently as an autumn breeze makes its way up the mountain. “Sans, you are lying in a pile of leaves.”

“sure am. wanna join?”

“Sans, you _know_ we have to go back to Snowdin and pack some bags if we’re going to be living up here right away! I told you last night! Did you forget already?”

“nah, i remembered,” Sans says, pointedly not sitting up. “just thought i would take a shortcut.”

Papyrus huffs. It’s hard to tell whether it’s exasperated or fond. Maybe it’s both. “You and your shortcuts,” he says.

Sans nods, his grin fixed on his face. There’s a degree to which that’s just because he’s only bones, to be fair.

“So you are just going to stay here and lie in these leaves?” says Papyrus, nudging the edge of the pile with a booted foot. The leaves crinkle and crunch, and Sans moves his shoulders in a manner that might potentially be construed as a shrug. “Ugh, you are _so_ lazy.”

“heh. yup. these bones are just too lazy, bro.”

“ _Sans!_ I can’t remember how many times you’ve used that pun! Too many!”

Sans says nothing. Papyrus crinkles some more leaves, before he seems to start feeling bad about it, and begins collecting some more interestingly shaped and vividly colored ones from the pile instead. Sans eventually turns onto his side to watch for a moment.

“bro. c’mon,” he says. “you’re stealing my bed. you can’t be planning to _leaf_ me like this.”

_”Saaannnsss!”_

*__________

They have been here for three days.

*__________

There is a single small human town on one side of the mountain, a little ways off the foot of the slopes. Besides that, there are just hills, haphazardly paved roads, and even a small lake on the opposite side of the mountain. Asgore and Toriel soon gather together a small group of monsters and they go to the human town.

There’s a bit of screaming at first. But nobody is armed, and somehow it all works out until they find themselves speaking to the mayor of the small town. She soon realizes this is completely out of her scope, and calls the state governor, who travels over a few days later, only to realize that she, too, is out of her scope. Then the federal government is called, and this is only just barely in the federal government’s scope. Reports are out on whether or not it would be in any sort of international government’s scope. Let’s be honest -- it probably wouldn’t be.

But still. Soon enough, there’s a squad of diplomats packed into the small town, and Toriel and Asgore spend much of their time there. It’s hard, because it means Toriel can’t spend as much time with Frisk as she wants to, but Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, and even Mettaton all keep them company when their mom is away. Alphys is always especially enthusiastic about the duties of watching a small human child.

Sans tags along, too, when he’s not busy napping.

On this particular afternoon Undyne declares they must visit the lake, and when she gets Papyrus on board with the plan -- an easy enough feat, Papyrus is _always_ enthusiastic -- it seems everyone is going. On the walk there, Alphys trails a little bit, waiting for Sans to catch up. It takes a while -- his stride is a dull, slow slog, but a steady one.

“S-Sans,” she says, trying to smile without any worry.

Sans says nothing.

“I don’t think -- ” She stops, pauses, thinks. Tries to control her stuttering, though she still looks worried, deep within the lines of her scales. “Sans,” she says. “I really think w-we’re okay. Asgore told me yesterday -- everything’s g-going so well, and... we’re going to get the whole mountain...”

“nnh,” Sans says. He does not break his stride, or the direction of his gaze, staring steadily towards the leaf-littered path.

Alphys’ face falls before she picks it back up hastily. “W-well, then!” she exclaims. “I’ll just hope enough for b- _both_ of us, okay?” She waits for a response, trying to grin, but it turns stale when Sans does not look at her.

“O-okay, Sans?”

Sans says nothing.

*__________

They have been here for one week.

*__________

The wooden skeleton -- ha, _ha_ \-- of the newly commissioned Embassy dominates the background of the small field Frisk is lying on. Construction at this time of year should be a pain, but Alphys and Mettaton’s efforts have recruited a number of Hotland residents and water elementals to control the encroachment of the first snows and frosts -- that is to say, to beat them back with graphic and extreme prejudice, and with sticks.

Kidding. They use magic, not sticks. Magical sticks, though, interesting idea.

Frisk moves their arms and legs in a snow angel motion, which is probably not a good idea and will not make a snow angel. True to prediction, this act succeeds only in clearing the very meager coating of new snow from the grass, leaving them with wet arms and legs.

“My child?” comes a voice from the direction of the construction. Frisk sits up happily and smiles at Toriel’s approaching figure. The monster queen bears a small wicker basket over her arm and an envelope tucked into her paw.

“Hi mom,” Frisk says, soft and breathy.

“Hello, dear.” Toriel sits beside Frisk and kisses them on their head. “I have a surprise for you today!”

Frisk looks up at Toriel. _Snails againnnn?_ their expression seems to say. Might say. Maybe.

Toriel hands Frisk the envelope.

“You’re a proper Monster citizen now, Frisk, and... well.” Toriel pauses. “... Did you... still wish to stay with me? Because that would be a certainty, now, if you wished it -- ”

Frisk flings their arms around their new mother. This seems like a yes. Toriel hugs them back. It’s all very happy and picturesque, and soon enough they’re eating lunch -- salad with bits of baked salmon in it, and a pie for dessert, of course. Probably cinnamon-butterscotch flavor. Usually Frisk eats with gusto, but today they seem... less. Their salad is picked over slowly for the best bits -- Frisk likes red peppers and the salmon, but not tomatoes -- and the pie is getting slowly colder in the open air.

“Frisk... is something the matter?”

“’M fine,” Frisk murmurs, though they still droop.

*__________

They have been here for one month.

*__________

Frisk slowly droops for the next two months. It’s _depressing_ to see, is what it is, and they spend a large amount of time with Papyrus, eventually seeking out the taller skeleton almost every day. Papyrus takes all the attention in stride -- even seems to thrive on it -- and they go on many Great Adventures around the sides of Mt. Ebott. Or they just cook spaghetti, or hot chocolate, when it’s too cold to go wandering and Toriel puts her foot down. But they do it with _intensity_. You just gotta do things like that with intensity.

This seems to cheer Frisk up, but when they return home and go to sleep, there is an inevitable nightly droop. It deepens each day until finally, after a deep snow, Mettaton encounters Frisk and Sans lying together on a bench in Lowslope -- so named in honorable continuation of the King’s lackluster naming abilities-- and generally being useless lumps.

“Darling, _no_ ,” Mettaton tells them, picking Frisk up from the bench with absolutely no effort. Frisk is _light_. “This is just unacceptable. We shall have to cheer you up, and I know just the thing! Come with me and Blooky tomorrow, we’re going to the manicure shop in the human town. You shall have gorgeous nails!”

Frisk blinks at him. Then they crack a small smile. “Gotta ask mom first,” they whisper to the robot.

“But of course! I wouldn’t dream of forgetting _that_.”

Frisk giggles, then realizes something and begins to fidget, pointing at the ground until Mettaton places them back into the snow. Stamping their feet a little, probably at how long it took Mettaton to get the message, they round on Sans, patting him on the shoulder.

“nn,” he says blearily. “hey kiddo.”

“Sans,” they say. “You wanna come?”

“... kiddo. Frisk,” Sans mumbles, pushing himself up on one elbow to grin at them. Or maybe that’s just his skull. “lookit my fingers.” He waggles his free hand in front of Frisk, the phalanges fluttering. “i don’t have nails.”

“Nonsense,” says Mettaton. “I don’t have nails either, but I’ve been wearing fabulous manicures since before we got to the surface. Don’t let it hold you back!”

Sans sighs and slumps back onto the bench. “s’okay, i’m good without it,” he says. His eyes close again -- well. Sort of. His eye-lights go out, it’s the same thing.

Frisk looks a little sad, but nods, accepting his answer. Maybe they can convince Sans to do something else fun. Let’s be honest -- he _really_ doesn’t seem the sort for manicures. It would almost be worrying if he said anything but ‘no’.

Papyrus, on the other hand...

Well, he’s very happy with the nail paint adorning his fingertips. It’s red and gold, and matches his outfit. What more does a skeleton need?

*__________

They have been here for three months.

*__________

Toriel’s new house is finished. Frisk insists on having a large party, a sleepover, the night after they move in. It’s maybe a bit unusual, but Toriel thinks it’s a great idea, and eagerly helps Frisk invite people. Everyone comes. _Everyone_. Papyrus, who carries a napping Sans in on his back. Undyne and Alphys, who arrive with makeup packs for everyone’s enjoyment. (Mettaton has his own fair share of makeup.) Napstablook is even convinced when Frisk promises them that they’ll have the wardrobe in Frisk’s new room to hide in if they so wish. MK needs no convincing whatsoever. Toriel even allows that Asgore might inhabit her house for the duration of the evening, though he returns to his own nearly finished house on the other side of town to sleep. More would probably be invited, but Toriel draws the line there -- Frisk, after all can’t squash the entire Underground into one house. Though they might well try some day, if the determined look on their face says anything, and it definitely does.

Still.

They all have a wonderful time.

Just before dawn, Frisk wakes up, and _yells_. It startles the other inhabitants of the house, which is most everyone -- they’ve never heard Frisk _yell_ before. The human dislikes raising their voice so much, or speaking for too long at a time, that Papyrus and Alphys have been teaching them Hands. So far, it’s going well, but they’ve had to avoid the more complex magical concepts -- not too unusual for a human learner, especially a young one.

But this time?

This time, Frisk _yells_.

They immediately shoot to the doorway, tugging on coat and boots, unbuttoned and unlaced, and race out the door before Toriel can pick her way through the floor covered by sleeping guests to say ‘Wait!’

Frisk...

Frisk races about the little town that is slowly growing larger and bigger on the slope of the mountain, intertwined with the trees and the rock formations. They skip past the Icicle Waterfall, a lovely little not-stream caused by melting snow and a perfect cluster of boulders, twirling through the streets. They trip, fall into the whiteness underfoot with a gentle ‘poof’, and bolt right back up and race forwards again. For hours they race through fields, laughter high and exhilarating in the sharp, tangy cold of winter.

They return early afternoon -- lunch has been entirely missed, and they shake a little with the cold of melted snow, sniffling. Toriel scolds them, bundles them up with hot chocolate, and places them directly between Undyne and Papyrus. The two monsters take their job of protecting Frisk from more outdoor escapades very... seriously. Frisk doesn’t mind, though. They spend more time hugging them, then slip off to hug Alphys, Sans, Mettaton, MK... everyone else who gathered for the housewarming party is given a tight, tight hug, and a whispered “I love you.”

Even Napstablook gets a hug. It took months of practice and technique to perfect the art of ghost-hugging, but now Frisk puts it to excellent use, hugging Napstablook so thoroughly that the ghost is overcome with emotion and has to go hide in the closet again.

Alphys grins at Frisk when they finish, helping Undyne escort the child back to their seat so they can eat their late lunch. “You seem... r-really happy,” she says softly to Frisk as Papyrus and Undyne argue about the microwave and the optimal temperature for heating the lunch. Frisk nods at the yellow reptile, smiling their widest smile yet.

After a moment, Alphys grins helplessly back at them.

*__________

They have been here for four months.

*__________

“We’ll have a party,” Asgore declares. “A feast. A celebration.”

 _We will?_ Frisk asks in Hands.

Asgore nods seriously.

 _What are we celebrating?_ Frisk asks. Understanding dawns momentarily, and they grin widely. _For the anniversary?_

“Indeed,” It’s now Asgore’s turn to grin as he tousles Frisk’s hair.

It’s a great party. Everything a party _should_ be -- loud, obnoxious, crowded, and inescapable. It’s held at night -- of _course_ it’s held at night, when else would it possibly be held? These _are_ monsters, you must remember. They sat and stargazed as soon as they were outside of the cavern. It’s practically inevitable that there will eventually be a national monster holiday of stargazing on this particular night.

And wow, but it is _crowded_.

Not so loud once the sun begins to fully set, though. Everyone stops making noise in favor of hypnotizing themselves with twinkling lights -- not that that’s _bad_. It’s probably pretty relaxing, unless hypnosis isn’t your thing. Then, well, you probably shouldn’t come to this party.

The quiet draws out the last few monsters who didn’t come for the earlier portion. Alphys and Sans are among them. For a while, at first, Alphys sits with Undyne, who sits with Asgore, Frisk perching on his lap covered with a woolen blanket Toriel spent all summer knitting. Sans sits -- you know where Sans sits.

“Man, Alphys,” Undyne murmurs, a quarter of the way into the night. “Did something happen with your work? Your tail’s been moving nonstop all night.”

“O-oh!” Alphys jolts. “S-sorry Undyne, it just -- well, I can m-move if you w-want me to -- ”

“Aw, Alphys,” Undyne murmurs, hugging her lizard. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re so happy, whyever that is.”

“Y -- yeah,” Alphys says, a smile overtaking her face.

*__________

It has been a year.

*__________

Around midnight, even Undyne is drifting off, nestled into Asgore’s side. Alphys hesitantly picks herself up from her girlfriend’s lap, puts a blanket over her, and waddles off. It doesn’t take her long to locate Sans and Papyrus. Papyrus is wide awake, perpetual grin wider than usual -- don’t ask how, it just _is_ \-- as he stares up at the sky. Sans is curled up in his lap, wrapped under a blanket and fast asleep. It’s almost funny, how much younger he looks when he isn’t grinning with all his might.

“Hi, Alphys!” Papyrus says, waving. Alphys smiles back. A number of nearby monsters, probably close to dozing, turn their heads to mutter at his volume. “Sorry everyone,” Papyrus says, lowering his voice. They grumble themselves back into sleep.

“Hi, Papyrus,” Alphys whispers as she draws near. “How’s Sans?”

“Sans is good!” Papyrus says. His volume rises and lowers erratically, probably an attempt to be quiet not quite mixing well with his boundless enthusiasm. “He’s missing out on the stars, but it’s okay.” He casts a glance at the smaller bundle in his lap. ‘Fond’ seems not strong enough to describe the emotions flickering across his face. Skull.

Alphys nods. “I’m glad,” she whispers. “I was -- w-wondering if I could talk to him, but I guess it’s okay. I’ll leave you two alone now, alright?”

“Sure! You can stay if you want, though!”

Alphys laughs, a soft helpless giggle of euphoria. “N-no, it’s okay. I have a lap to sit on. It’s comfier than the ground.”

“That’s good! Have fun Alphys!”

Papyrus waves her off as she waddles her way back to Undyne and the Asgore-pile. Seems Mettaton has joined in while she was gone.

A little while after, Sans stirs. “nnh,” he says, eye-lights flickering on.

“Brother!” exclaims Papyrus. “Did you have a good rest?”

“yeah,” Sans says, shifting to face the sky again. “yeah. it was pretty good.”

“I am glad,” Papyrus says. “And look! You only missed half the night!”

“heh. yep.”

“You also missed the food. Did you eat dinner?”

Sans shrugs. It is one of the most insufferable ‘what can ya do’ shrugs in existence.

“Sans!” Papyrus is scandalized, as well he should be. “This is unacceptable. I will go and get you some of the leftover punch immediately. You must eat _something_.” The taller skeleton begins to get off of the ground, and Sans shifts to let him. 

“you’re such a cool bro, paps,” he says.

“Of course I am! I am the Great Papyrus! And I will be right back.”

Papyrus quickly obtains the glass of punch and brings it back to their spot. Sans is sitting with his patellae drawn up to his ribcage, looking at the sky. But his gaze isn’t stuck, not in the same way it was last year. Now, it roams around the various stars, tracing invisible, unseen lines between them. There is a reflecting glimmer in his eye-lights, nothing like the dim sockets that had blindly stared at the sky on this day a year before.

“thanks, pap,” he says as he takes the glass of punch from his brother’s gloved hand. Papyrus settles back down, hugging the smaller skeleton to his own ribcage.

“... the real stars are a lot better than the ones in waterfall, aren’t they?” Sans asks.

“Yes, I do think I agree,” Papyrus answers. They sit in a comfortable, warm silence for a while, despite the mid-autumn chill starting the permeate the air. Sans finishes his punch. Opens his mouth. Closes it again. His voice is very quiet.

“...do you think they’ll have this party again next year?”

“I’m sure of it, brother!”

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of timeskip. It's necessary for us to begin to reach our main plot and points of contention. I hope you enjoy it regardless!
> 
> If you have any puns you want used in the story, please send them to me. I am really bad at coming up with them, and I need them to write Sans accurately.


End file.
